Once a Decepticon…
by Taipan Kiryu
Summary: G1. As the war between Autobots and Decepticons escalates, Thundercracker makes a last stand against himself. Sequel to 'Deviant' and final part of my Thundercracker trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, August 16__th__ has arrived and, as promised, here you have the beginning of the third and last story of my Thundercracker trilogy. _

_First of all, I want to thank you for all the amazing reviews you left me for the last chapter of 'Deviant'. I was really touched by each one of them, and I thank you deeply from the bottom of my heart. That kind of response is the sweetest High Grade Energon that fuels me to keep writing these stories._

_Now, to 'Once a Decepticon…' This story happens approximately six months after the ending of 'Deviant', so expect that some things may have changed due to the events that happened there. As one reviewer pointed out, a new era has begun. Iacon has fallen, Starscream's trine is no more, Thundercracker got promoted… The Cybertronian war has, as Megatron said, taken a very interesting turn._

_Many thanks to my beta reader iratepirate, who gave me a good kick of inspiration and revised this chapter practically the same day I sent it to her, making it possible to post it today. _

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><p><strong>Once a Decepticon…<strong>

**Written by Taipan Kiryu**

Summary: G1. As the war between Autobots and Decepticons escalates, Thundercracker makes a last stand against himself. Sequel to 'Deviant' and final part of my Thundercracker trilogy.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro/Takara. I don't own anything but the plot of this story and the love for giant, alien robots.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The echo of footsteps faded as the figure decreased its speed, taking shelter within the big shadow on the wall. The two moons of Cybertron were being very generous that cycle, bathing in silver light the streets that had no aspirations other than darkness.

But such generosity was not welcomed. The one thing the mech leaning on the wall wished for more than anything was darkness, the only mantle that would give him a fleeting illusion of invisibility. Iacon was blind indeed, but she could see far beyond her offlined eyes.

The narrowed optics of the mech flickered as he scanned the intersection ahead. Countless data invaded his HUD; repetitive, empty data that only increased his fear. Never had nothingness been so terrifying. His systems couldn't perceive anything on the four streets that met just some mechano meters ahead of him, dormant serpents that once had been populated with life but now stood alone, cold metal replacing their ancient splendor. Undead would have been a better word to describe them.

His finger trembled when he reached for the small button at the right side of his head. He didn't find it easily, it had been attached to his helmet very recently.

"Requesting coordinates for extraction… O-over," he said with the awkwardness of a civilian who wasn't used to the ways of war, despite having been its victim since its very beginning.

He was about to try again, certain that he had done something wrong, when a coarse, metallic voice could be heard inside his head.

"_Coordinates 75, 0, 0, 8, sector Pax-7. Proceed."_

He tried to sigh. Sector Pax-7… that was not very far away, not for a mech that was used to wandering, like he was. Others, the privileged ones, including all those post-war models who wore an insignia and thought of themselves as gods, would have found the destination distant, but not him. When roaming through the state-cities in search for a dot of Energon or an abandoned spare part, there was no such thing as distance.

But when gazes could be felt on a mech's back, scorching him like plasma beams… then distance became infinite.

The mech moved, sliding his trembling hand along the wall, focusing on the cold metal touching his fingers and blindly searching for a fake sense of security. There was no sound, no energy signatures, no sight other than the abandoned streets… and yet he knew he was not alone.

He remembered who he was going to meet. One of those fancy models, one who had fought the war on other worlds, organic worlds… a Seeker. He didn't even know if he was a Decepticon or an Autobot. All he had heard was that the Seeker had the worst of both.

The mech looked downwards, his yellowish optics glancing at his old, bare chest plates, where fear was the only insignia. He wondered if it happened that way with organics, if their chest plates or whatever they had as such raised and lowered as fast as his, if their vital fuels pumped painfully against their energy cores, if terror ran down their cheeks like the dots of lubricant that were currently moistening his face…

He repressed a shiver when he took another step. His sensors were not reliable; he couldn't trust in the things he could see, not even in the ones he could touch. It was beyond the veil of mist where truth existed, wrapped between the blurry tentacles of a myth. Iacon was dead, but her heart kept pumping, sending agonizing cries and squirming amongst her own decay, every pulse a denial of all those dark streets in which something lower than life was stirring and giving its first steps.

"It's not real, it's not real," he repeated his mantra, trying to convince himself that he was alone, that the streets wouldn't engulf him. Superstitions were born that way, so were nightmares…

The reward was vast. Unlimited Energon, repairs, protection, a place in the new order that the winner of the war would establish once he crushed his enemies…

Iacon was mad, but why would she turn her anger to him? He hadn't harmed her… not yet.

A short circuit in a lamp above made the mech jump. For a moment, it was something other than the moons of Cybertron that reached his partially rusted face. The small rain of sparks was ghostly. It reminded him of acid rain. How many dots of acid rain had he felt burning his armour during the ancient and almost forgotten times in which he, and the war, had been young?

The last sparks were still falling on the ground when the mech advanced, his rusted servos entering the moonlight with a speed that didn't belong to them. He just had to cross the avenue and he would be there, on the narrow street that would lead him to the tunnels and thus to the outskirts of Iacon. Why wouldn't Iacon allow him to get there? He had been there so many times, beggaring, rummaging through the remains… Why would Iacon turn her fury to one of her more unfortunate sons?

His joints articulated smoothly, reminding him of better times, when youth had been his acquaintance. But it wasn't youth the thing fueling his speed. It was fear, raw and primitive, the one thing that made no distinctions between organic and mechanic.

Primus, more than ever he wished that his transformation cog was functional.

He could hear his steps. They were his, the proof that he existed right there and right in that moment. Iacon could hear him too.

"Please allow me to pass, please…" he prayed to the Mother of all city-states.

Then he realized that his steps were the only thing that he could hear. There was nothing else reaching his audio receptors. The dust, the debris, the darkened windows… everything was silent, paralyzed in that exact moment in which he realized that there could be no such thing as a short circuit in a city that had no energy left at all.

The lamp… _what _had powered the lamp?

He had almost reached the supposed safety of his destination when he knew that there was no use. Everything he had done until then was useless. Iacon was watching him, and she was angry.

He wasn't surprised when sound returned; a muffled, yet piercing sound.

And it didn't return alone.

Perhaps, if his pain hadn't been beyond unbearable, he would have had time to recognize the screechy sound of his own circuitry being shredded. Perhaps he would have had time to feel the emptiness in his torso and realize that his spark chamber had been ripped from his chest, taken to his face and crushed right before his fading optics. Perhaps…

But he never knew anything of that. The only thing he could realize amidst the pain was the sound of his own voice, howling his agony in desperate harmonics.

He never got to see his mutilated hand, twisted horribly on the ground, its fingers still scratching the fissures they had opened in the surface during that unique nanoklik that had been his last.

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><p>In the dream, it was always white. A vast, endless extension of white that contrasted with the darkness of his radar. It was peaceful too, but a peace that was related only to desolation. The wind blew savagely, punishing his audio receptors and his fuselage with millions of frozen needles.<p>

Curiously, he felt no pain, or maybe he just didn't care about it. His attention was focused on his engines, forced to their extreme as he tried to reach the light above his nosecone. His equilibrium chip had given up for what it seemed like an eternity. He didn't know in which direction he was flying. Despite the intense light, he felt as if he was flying in blindness, the darkness as pure as it had never been, and yet as tricky as a nightmare.

Perhaps he was flying upwards, or even descending into the ultimate Pit. All he knew was that there was a light above. He called it light and he distinguished it from the surrounding whiteness only because it was warm, like the memory of a hug. He knew that feeling well, despite being so ancient and impossible. He knew it as much as he yearned for it, his weakness not being enough to make him feel shame.

The white opened, showing itself as never-ending. He knew that place, he knew that cold. It belonged to the world that was not his, the same world that had witnessed the deviant ways of his soul. Purple and red greeted him daringly, each one urging him to decide one course of flight. He had reached the pinnacle from which he couldn't divide himself anymore.

The wind blew, crueler than ever. He tried to adjust his inner temperature, but there was no use. His energy core was cold, as well as his spark. The light in the distance was bright and warm, but it was not welcoming him. It didn't reject him either, it only tempted him, attracting him with invisible fingers that never got to touch him.

He knew that, and still he accepted the rules of the game. More than ever, he was a plaything.

He was flying blind, and he was flying nowhere.

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><p>Giving pleasure was her conscience. Ever since the first time she had been aware of being online, satisfying other mechs had become her only function. One mech was the same as the next; giving him ecstasy was her life force, never receiving it was her creed. That's why the sound of her own pleasure had felt so foreign, that's why she had found herself wanting to override the programming that prevented her from overloading. The urge of ecstasy had never been so tangible.<p>

Number 3-B moaned as her fingers scraped the shoulder joint so close to her face, frame against frame in the interminable symphony of screeching metallic sounds and energy exchanges that signaled the unique communion two Cybertronian bodies could have.

He was a very attractive mech. He had to be, considering he was a Seeker. Some said that Seekers had been created purposely beautiful in order to distract their enemies on the battlefield. Others even dared to say that the perfection of their designs had been architected by Primus himself, so he could rejoice with the sight of his beautiful winged creations.

But reality was much less poetic. Seekers were precious, deadly creatures, proud of themselves and of the skies they had claimed as their only love. Their high military and social status had nothing to do with aesthetics or myths; it relied only on their fast speed and their extraordinary ability to kill.

She looked at the fingers intertwined with hers. It was hard to imagine that strong gray hand moistened with the blood of an enemy. Purple just didn't seem to fit that Seeker, although he wore it on his wings and on the stripes on his shoulders that revealed his high rank.

He had been in the brothel only a few times, but she had learned quickly to recognize his signals. When his optics faded and his lip components pressed hers almost to the threshold of pain, she increased the flows of energy to their limit, guiding him to a point of no return in which the only option was ecstasy. That was the moment in which he was completely defenseless, right when he reached the borders of reality and sank into the realm in which all mechs descended to their most primitive, and yet pure, state.

He overloaded, silent as he always did. Number 3-B had lost count of how many mechs had overloaded on top of her, but she couldn't recall any other who hadn't howled their pleasure. Ever since the ancient times in which she had been the toy of a prestigious Senator, to the more recent vorns in which war had turned her into the pleasure port for many, moaning was the pitiful feedback she received from a satisfied customer… or victimizer.

But the blue and gray Seeker never moaned. He just stayed on top of her, his pleasure slowly fading, his systems realigning and returning him to whatever unbearable burden he was carrying before finding a momentary escape within her intimacy. It wasn't pleasure that he was looking for, she knew that already. It was release, a bunch of anonymous nanokliks in which he could run away from himself and forget who he was.

"My Lord…" she whispered. She called him that, the thought of asking his name had never crossed her mind. She had heard that he was a very important officer, that he responded only to the Supreme Commander of the Decepticons himself…

"May I treat you with an Energon cube, my Lord?"

He didn't answer immediately. He barely spoke to her, but she felt comfortable in his presence, and not only because he was the first Decepticon who didn't brutalize her. Ever since the first time they had interfaced, she had noticed that he was different. He had taken her without violence, unlike the rest of his kind, which found pleasure in the mere idea of dominance. But he hadn't been soft either, his passion guided by something other than lust.

Pleasure bots knew better than anyone else about the stains on the spark of a mech. That Seeker was not stained; he was torn.

His optics onlined, slowly recovering their normal deep crimson colour.

"I'm no Lord," he said, rejecting both the title and the Energon. He slowly removed his interfacing cable from her port and sat on the edge of the berth.

After the act, there was no need for her to touch him again, but still she did. She liked his wide shoulders, she liked to run her hand over the beautiful metal of his wings. It was hard to believe, seeing him there, closing his chest plates after giving up to some anonymous moments of lust, that he had flown Cybertronian and alien skies for thousands of vorns. At least that was what the others said.

Her hand went beyond, caressing the yellow glass of his cockpit. Maybe he would interface with her again. Sometimes he did it, if time and his own angst allowed it.

But another obstacle was meant to happen that day, as the slight buzz of his communicator prophesied. He got up and walked toward the other side of the room. Under the dimmed orange light, she could see the features of his face hardening, a frown of preoccupation clouding the crimson of his optics. He spoke in a very low voice, but she could hear him mentioning some coordinates and talking about someone who was apparently missing.

He ended the communication and walked towards the door, giving her a last glance and throwing her an extra one thousand Energon credits coin. He always ended their interface sessions that way, such was his goodbye.

She didn't take the currency until the door closed behind him. It wasn't credits that she wanted, only his return. But, like many of the mysteries that surrounded that Seeker, she realized that his return was one of the things she could never be certain about.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>I should say "to be started". This was only a short prologue, to get in the mood. <em>

_As you could notice, this story will happen mostly on Cybertron, but we will also see a good amount of Earth too – thank you, Transformers Universe, for the Space Bridge! _

_Also, I'm not very keen on original characters, so don't let these first lines trick you. As I said, I was just getting in the mood and I included a couple of original characters here that helped to paint the picture, but the plot will focus on all the canon characters that left their doors open after the ending of 'Deviant'._

_Okay, that was all for this prologue. Chapter 1 will be landing here really soon.  
><em>


	2. Rolling stones

_Please accept my apologies for taking so long to update this story. I really didn't mean to take – oh my Unicron – almost 4 months to post a new chapter, but somehow I lost track of time and got busy with my other stories._

_You have been such a wonderful group of readers, which makes me feel even worse for keeping you waiting for so long, but I'll do my best to make it up to you. For starters, I will update much more often, and I also want to give you a little treat. It's a Christmas one-shot that will happen during 'Deviant' and which will be posted next December 23._

_But let's focus on this update first, brought to you thanks to the generosity of my dear friend and beta reader iratepirate, who always find time to revise my grammar despite of her very busy schedule._

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<br>**

**Rolling stones**

The alien melody kept sounding as the distant lights of the explosions created yellow reflections on the black and purple armour. A metallic tapping could also be heard; heel-thrusters against the roof of the communication tower, not really following any rhythm but still accompanying the song that the Cybertronian state-city of Kalis had heard countless times that cycle.

Nobody could have ever told how Skywarp had learned to whistle, not even himself. He didn't have the organic components that made it possible, but somehow he had adapted his lip components and his glossa to do the trick. Whistling was the one thing he had brought back from his long stay on Earth. It didn't matter that he had only been online five of those four million years; by his standards it had been too long.

_The buds were bursting and the air smelled sweet and strange_

_It seemed about a hundred years ago_

He had never cared enough to learn the lyrics, that's why he frowned when they suddenly popped up somewhere in his processor. He knew the melody quite well, though; it had been glued to his memory banks since the day he had heard it for the first time – and last, also. He had never cared about the slagging song after that day, but he had started to whistle it, almost unconsciously, every time his mind had been so absent that any other kind of activity became impossible.

_Mary and I, we would sit upon a gate_

_Just gazin' at some dragon in the sky_

That day, that day… he remembered that day. An energy raid on some anonymous terrestrial oil refinery… What was new?

There had been a human on the platform, its vital fluid and internal components splattered all over the grey pavement. Skywarp was sure it had been his doing. Faithful to his style, he had arrived at the oil refinery shooting first and evaluating the situation later. It could have been that Ravage had gotten to the human first… but it wasn't likely. No Cybertronian was faster than Skywarp when he teleported, not even Starscream.

There had been other humans too, of course, all deactivated and messy with their internals exposed, but Skywarp had only paid attention to that one, and only because of the tape recorder that it was holding in one clawed, half carbonized hand.

_Now all my friends are wearing worried smiles_

_Living out a dream of what they was_

_Don't you think it's sometimes wise not to grow up?_

The recorder was still functioning, and it kept playing the song even when the rest of the Decepticons arrived and got rid of the remaining humans. Skywarp was pleased because the tune wasn't annoying, and it made the tedious work of filling the Energon cubes less uh… tedious.

But when the other memory made its way through his data banks, Skywarp frowned. _He _was always there, slagging up his memories as _he_ had slagged his life.

"_Give up the long face, would ya TC? Come on, we've got cubes to fill."_

"_This carnage is disgusting… and totally unnecessary. Couldn't you resist showing up with your fragging heat-seeking missiles just this once?"_

The song had been so catchy that Skywarp had almost succeeded in not noticing the grimace of disgust displayed on a certain slagger's face as the slagger kept staring at the slagging amounts of deactivated, slagging flesh bags...

Yeah, Skywarp had almost succeeded, but he failed because it was always the same thing; every energy raid, every attack, every special operation, there was always that uncomfortable gaze blaming him for being himself. It was curious how Skywarp had gotten used to such gaze during the vorns – _he_ being disgusted about something, _he_ not bothering to stain his hands with what he called the blood of innocents, _he_ being a boring aft, plus many etceteras – but still it had always managed to get to the black Seeker, just as any other difference had always found a way to get to him. Slag, how he hated everything that was different from himself. How he hated _him!_

Skywarp frowned and pushed the memory of that day at the oil refinery back to the bottom of his data banks. But he kept whistling, always unconsciously, as the battle continued illuminating his armour from the distance.

Skywarp smirked as the high grade kept flowing through his fuel lines. How many battles had he fought in? Zillions, it had to be zillions… Well, maybe not that many, but still…

"Ha! And the fragger meant to offline me is yet to be built!" he cried to the black skies, shaking his fist. Then he returned his attention to the fight again. A couple of mechano miles separated him from the battlefield, but still he could smell it.

It was more a skirmish than a real battle, another Autobot squad playing the hero and trying to stop the Decepticons from gaining positions in the city-state that had become the Autoscum's new capital.

In a perfect world, he would have been there; he would have been one of the conquerors, making his way to glory by shooting one Autobot after another, just like that glorious first time in which Skywarp's trine had slaughtered everyone in that Autobot medical facility in Iacon following Megatron's orders, thus starting the war.

"_Body count?" _Dirge had asked him when he returned covered in blood and glory.

He had replied proudly, because pride was what he had felt. _"Twenty."_

"_You're so full of slag!"_

Ah, the Coneheads, always complaining, always aware of their own inferiority…

Okay, maybe it hadn't been twenty, but he had slagged at least seven Autobots by himself. One of them, as he had learnt later, was the brother of those lunatic Autobot Lamborghinis… It served them right. He wondered if they knew that, from triplets, it had been him who made them twins.

The memory left as fast as the first one, hurriedly escaping before _he_ appeared and ruined everything again…

Skywarp couldn't repress the shiver as he dragged his inebriated self closer to the edge of the narrow roof of the communication tower, his heel-thrusters always poking the dented metal of the edge of the roof in complete disrespect to the abyss below, not to mention to the tune he was whistling.

Like any other Seeker, he didn't give a slag for any distance separating him from the ground. Heights would never be his enemies; the sky was all that he had left, all that he could trust in and the only thing he had ever loved.

It was the coldness that bit him hard. He increased his inner temperature but found little release. Ever since the one mech he used to call brother had come up with his big revelation and decided to play the goodie-good Autobot, Skywarp's energy core had insisted on remaining cold.

The distant explosions did nothing to decrease his anger. Perfect world, perfect world… In a perfect world, he would be there, perhaps leading the squad. Once – was it so long ago, really? – he had been one of Megatron's Elite Seeker Trine, he had been a slagging god… and now he was junk, junk that whistled a slagging terrestrial song. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so powerless, his former status being nothing but a bittersweet memory. The irony of it all was that only a few dozen cycles had passed since then. Could a life be lived in just some days? Maybe not, but it slaggin' sure could be destroyed.

Skywarp got up and grabbed the slim antenna of the tower to stabilize himself, raising his right arm toward the distance. If at least his targeting system would have been a little more cooperative in his current over-energized state, everything would be too easy. It was a battle, after all. Nobody would even notice that the killer shot had came from a place very far away from the battlefield. The reports would say that some Autobot got a lucky shot, or that collateral damage had taken its toll… but the brand new, heroic and _hypocritical_ Commander would fall just the same. Ah, such a big loss… Megatron would order some memorial service according to his rank, and his name would be craved in the Decepticon Hall of Glory, maybe he would get a statue too… But he would be dead anyway, unable to witness his posthumous glory, all obtained from the lies and weaknesses that were proper of histrue kind. Skywarp sniggered stupidly when he wondered if the Autobots would spare a bit in their data banks for that accursed name once they knew about his termination… Heh, he was one of them, after all, he had even worn their insignia, and they had trusted him, and he had stabbed them in the back…

And Skywarp? Perhaps he wouldn't say anything to stain the heroic memory of the fraggin' renegade Autobot and would allow him to have his glory. Skywarp had shut up all this time after all, hadn't he? Despite having being betrayed, he had shut up… and all because he had loved that mech, because he had been his brother…

Skywarp's legs failed to sustain him. To his frustration, he didn't fall into the abyss. His back clanged sonorously on the roof of the tower and Skywarp started to shoot his arm-mounted rifles into the skies, to the only thing he had left to love.

"You're gonna kiss and say good-bye, yeah, I warn ya," he half-sang, half-spat, almost on the edge of purging his fuel tanks. He had drunk too much, more than any Cybertronian could stand, and yet there he was, feeling like slag, but as functional as he could be as he slowly destroyed himself.

When he spoke again to the void, he had stopped singing. "You could never hold your high grade, TC…" When his optics turned glassy, he forced himself to ignore it.

Skywarp had the slagger in his hands, literally. Not only his secret, but his life was at a shot's distance, one shot that had to come from Skywarp's cannons, it was only fair… If someone was going to kill the traitor scum, it had to be his own brother. That's how perfect things had to be.

But perfection was something he definitely didn't have that cycle.

He got to one knee and aimed. Darkness, smoke and constant laser fire didn't do anything to aid his quest, distance either… Skywarp's targeting sensors allowed him to see some glimpses of the combatants, even some fallen corpses, but that was it. He couldn't have told Decepticon from Autobot, even less the one he was looking for, the ironic mixture of both.

He lowered his arm, his slim cannon humming almost painfully.

He could see clearly, though, that a victor had been defined. The Decepticons had won, had taken another step towards conquering Kalis.

Yes, in a perfect world he would have been part of that victory.

But his life had stopped being perfect for what seemed like forever.

And he was cold, he was so slagging cold.

After that day, he never whistled the terrestrial song anymore.

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><p>Dimmed lights and the scent of fuel welcomed Thundercracker as soon as he pushed the very old door of the Oil House open. Traces of rust stayed on his fingers, getting lost amongst the scratches and scorch marks that the recent battle had left on his frame as a reminder of that thing others called victory.<p>

His desire to remain anonymous wasn't disappointed when he found the place almost empty and in frank decay. He hadn't been there in thousands of vorns, but it was curious that time seemed to have stopped in the old Oil House. It looked exactly like the dirty slag hole he remembered. It seemed that neither war nor deactivation had managed to shut down the most infamous tavern in Iacon, the place in which he and his two wingmates usually ended up after overloading all their excess of energy in whatever pleasure houses their Energon credits could afford. Youth had that thing; it made a mech believe that he was indestructible, able to frag the whole Universe up the afterburners and then frag it again. Thundercracker found it ridiculous how many of his former companions at the War Academy, now experienced Decepticon soldiers, had decided to stay living in that dream. The others had simply died.

The constant purr of the generators at the back explained the presence of light. Even though it was flickering, it provided the illusion of life in a city that he had doomed himself. Iacon resisted only to completely deactivate and, always a caring mother, hadn't rejected the most infamous and ungrateful of her sons as he made his return to the place that had seen some of his doubts surfacing for the first time.

"And there he is, the victor of the battle of Kalis… Where's your personal guard, _hero? _You are entitled to have one now."

Thundercracker turned to his left. His audio receptors had located the origin of the voice, but it was his instinct that guided him toward the darkest corner of the tavern, where his trine's old table still stood, marked with their initials and concealed within the very scarce light and some other rusted tables.

"I don't see you with a personal guard either," Thundercracker greeted back curtly, but still he didn't hesitate to join the mech who had spoken at the infamous table.

Starscream scowled, but didn't seem to find Thundercracker's company extremely disagreeable. "A bunch of lackeys kissing your aft all the time is Shockwave's style, not mine… as much as I was cursed with two of them for thousands of vorns."

Thundercracker smiled slightly as he sat on the chair across Starscream's. It was true; no matter what his former Air Commander said, he had lost the ability to annoy him.

"I don't remember having ever kissed your aft," he said. He could have said _'I miss you too, Starscream'_ and the effect on Starscream's face would have been the same. His features looked so odd when he was not sneering…

"Let's drink to that," Starscream said, lifting his arm and clicking his fingers. The bartender must have been very attentive to his half concealed but distinguished guest because he started to fill a glass immediately.

"I still don't do high grade," Thundercracker said gloomily.

"Not unless you are with your kind, you may want to add. Imagine Autobot insignias on my wings if it makes you feel more comfortable."

Those words in anybody else's vocalizer would have obtained a very different, physical response. But once again, Thundercracker and Starscream had gone through a lot over the past joors and they were totally over cheap games of provocation.

"I will, if you imagine that I'm someone having a drink with you because he actually likes you."

"_Touché,"_ Starscream said, unable to repress a slight smirk. The bartender left a filled glass on the table and hurried to leave, as the insect that Starscream considered him to be.

"It's just oil," Starscream explained as he saw the distrustful look that Thundercracker gave to the glass. "We are not precisely abundant in high grade these days… Strange, considering we are, mm, how did Megatron put it? Oh yeah… _winning the war."_

Thundercracker took the glass and frowned at it. "We are winning nothing."

"Ah, finally somebody who agrees with me. It's good to see that some mechs still have a minimal amount of common sense around here… But I shouldn't be surprised; you are an Autobot, after all. As much as I despise your pathetic kind, I must admit that you Autobots compensate your natural lack of courage with a minimal amount of brain activity."

"You would be surprised by just how _scarce_ of courage the Autobots are, Starscream…"

"Was that sarcasm in your voice, Thundercracker, or just your Autobot side acting up?" Starscream said, almost emptying the contents of his glass in one single swig, only to scowl immediately after. "Gah! Terrestrial fuel tasted better than this slag."

Thundercracker had to agree when the scent of the dark oil reached his olfactory receptors. Still, he took a small sip.

A small crack inside his processor announced the incoming transmission. Thundercracker wasn't surprised, even though Starscream hadn't used that private frequency since they were cadets at the War Academy. He had been expecting it since the very first moment he had stepped into the tavern.

"_Were you followed?" _Starscream asked him.

"_I'm always followed," _he replied as curtly as he could, even considering that Starscream was not hearing his voice but receiving an encrypted message in his HUD.

"I heard about your victory in Kalis," Starscream said in loud voice, returning to the beginnings of their apparently casual conversation. "Very impressive."

"_What do you want, Starscream? Why did you want to meet me here?" _Thundercracker transmitted back whilst his vocalizer articulated a very different response. "You should not pay so much attention to gossip."

"_We are not friends," _Starscream's next encrypted message said. Even though it was only displayed in characters on his HUD, the coldness of the statement could be felt through the virtual link.

"_Indeed we are not," _Thundercracker replied through the same channel, hoping that his words would be deciphered with the same curtness he would have used had he said them aloud.

"Megatron assigned you to Kalis…" Starscream insisted in loud voice. "Big deal. Do you know how many missions of that kind he has assigned me?" At the same time he was speaking, he continued transmitting his private message. _"So make sure that friendship is not the motor guiding my words."_

"_Oh, I would never dare to think otherwise,"_ Thundercracker transmitted back, leaning slightly toward his former Air Commander. "Seven hundred thousand and thirty six. I was your wingmate in every one of them, remember?"

Starscream scowled. "Stating that last part was completely unnecessary." _"I know that a distress call emitted from the proximities of the Imperial Amphitheater was intercepted two solar cycles ago. Who were you going to meet?"_

Thundercracker remained silent on both accounts for a moment. As far as he could tell, his mind had never been invaded, so there was no way of knowing if Soundwave was peeking into his processor at that single moment. He disregarded the thought; he couldn't be that paranoid. Soundwave was a telepath, not omnipotent. Besides, Thundercracker had risked too much to live in fear.

"_What makes you think that said call was intended for me?" _he asked through the secret link as he carefully analyzed Starscream's face. "You don't have to worry, Starscream. We are still ages away from snatching Kalis from Autobot control. There will more opportunities for you to show Megatron just how valuable you are."

Starscream narrowed his optics with anger. "Careful, Thundercracker… You seem too overconfident in your new position as squad Commander, but you should know that a handful of victories don't mean a thing, not in this war." Starscream hadn't finished speaking when his next message arrived at Thundercracker's processor. _"I thought that you and I had reached a tacit agreement concerning pathetic lies. Who is this mech, Thundercracker? Why did he suddenly disappear from satellite detection?"_

Two drunken soldiers on the edge of interfacing crashed against the table, almost spilling the two Seeker's drinks. It took only a single glare from Starscream to make them flee along with their lust.

"I know that, and apparently better than you. What have all your victories gained for you, Starscream? Not as much as your defeats, I'd say," Thundercracker said as he brought the glass of oil to his lips. "You shouldn't be so afraid of me, Air Commander. I'm not interested in your position." _"He never gave me his real designation, but I know for sure that he was a civilian. One of the Seekers under my command was supposed to pick him up at the outskirts of Iacon, but he never made it to the extraction point. How did you know about his disappearance? I wasn't aware that we still had such thorough surveillance over Iacon."_

"You'd be a fool if you were. You may think you're flying higher than ever, but the truth is that you will always be beneath me." _"I told you. As careful as your mysterious Empty may have been, he didn't escape Soundwave's surveillance. Fragger has eyes everywhere, but you were lucky that Megatron had his telepathic drone occupied at that moment."_

That caused a slight frown on Thundercracker's face plates. _"How can you be so certain?"_

"_Because I intercepted the signal before it arrived at Soundwave's station. It seems that once again I saved your aft."_

"_It would appear so… And I suppose you expect my gratitude in return."_

"_Keep it. I'll collect recompense when the time comes. In the meantime, you could give me proof of your good intentions by telling me what business you had with that Empty. Call it simple curiosity."_

"_As you said, your recompense will come when the timing is right. All I can tell you right now is that that mech had some schematics I needed to infiltrate Kalis." _

"_Is that so?" _Obviously Starscream wasn't buying it. He clicked his fingers at the bartender without detaching his gaze from Thundercracker's face, scrutinizing it so thoroughly that for a moment Thundercracker felt as if he had been stripped of all his armour. "So what are you doing here, Thundercracker?" Starscream finally spoke in loud voice again. "Any other Decepticon would have gone to Darkmount to gloat about his victory, or even to good ole Kaon... What brought you to the city you shut off so beautifully?" At the same time, Starscream continued their encrypted conversation. _"So, schematics? Which, in case of being real, may already be in your hands. I couldn't track the Empty after he sent you the distress signal. His whereabouts are unknown."_

"_His whereabouts perhaps, but not his fate. He was terminated." _Thundercracker felt uneasy on both accounts, but there was no use in lying to Starscream. Disguising the truth had always proved to be a safe exit, especially when dealing with the mech that would betray him or help him with the same ease, depending on what served his interest better. It had always been that way, ever since they were cadets.

"You were always the genius of the trine, Starscream. Why don't you tell me what brought me here?"

The bartender placed another glass before Starscream and left. Starscream waited until they were alone again before smirking and leaning towards his former wingmate. Thundercracker could see that he was slightly over-energized; he had certainly been refueling with something other than pure oil.

"Not nostalgia toward our old tavern," Starscream said in low voice. "That would have been an expected reason in your immediate past, but not now… Not glory, either. Eons would have to pass before you gloated about victories that you don't consider as such. That leaves us a third possibility: an official matter. You are here because Megatron summoned you, perhaps?"

Thundercracker smirked slightly. It was a dangerous game… it had been since the very beginning. He and Starscream had agreed to the rules ever since they had been reassigned to Cybertron. There was no cat and definitely no mouse; they were two mechs sharing a fleeting alliance that inevitably would end in the termination of one of them. The duel they had started in the Kaon Coliseum had just taken another turn, that was all. In that moment, Thundercracker could have killed Starscream with the same naturalness he was drinking his glass of cheap oil with. He had been very close to doing it just some cycles ago, after all… and he was certain that Starscream wouldn't hesitate to rip his spark from his chest either. That was the unique relationship that two Seekers could have, both competitive, both distrustful, both eager to take the first shot. They owed it to each other; they hadn't shared the bond of trine brotherhood for so many vorns for nothing.

"_So the Empty was terminated…" _Starscream transmitted, returning to the matter that really interested him. _"How can you be so sure?"_

"_He was carrying a tracking device hidden on his energy core. It stopped functioning exactly thirty one astro seconds after his distress call was emitted. His life signal offlined abruptly, his spark extinguished."_

"_Who killed him?"_

"_That's what I intend to find out." _Thundercracker noticed that silence had become longer than expected, so he hurried to speak through his vocalizer again, and to whoever that may have been listening to them. "As he summoned you too. Or isn't Megatron the reason for your presence in Iacon? Why else would the Decepticon Air Commander be in a place like this, poisoning his brilliant processor with adulterated fuel when he could be enjoying the glories of his most recent victories instead? Oh, that's right… You have no recent victories. Megatron assigned me to Kalis, not you."

Starscream's grimace of anger was priceless. It was so easy to poke the place which hurt Starscream the most. He had always been a jealous slagger and always would be.

"Beware of your words. You certainly don't want to take a look at my war trophies."

Thundercracker had the feeling that there was a place reserved for his head between those trophies. The eerie feeling only increased with Starscream's next codified message.

"_Do you believe in ghosts, Thundercracker?"_

The blue Seeker frowned. "Trust me, Starscream, I'm not even slightly interested in seeing the ashes of your former glory."

Starscream smirked and rubbed his chin, once again drilling his ex wingmate's face with his penetrating stare. _"Perhaps you should start believing, TC… I have a theory about what killed your mysterious Empty."_

Of course, Thundercracker had heard rumours about something stalking the dead streets of Iacon. _"I'm not superstitious," _he transmitted back emphatically.

"_Who said anything about superstitions? At least you could be a little more cautious. Dare to be even a little overconfident and you'll pay the highest price." _Starscream sneered as he finished his oil and then did the same with what remained of Thundercracker's glass, a gesture of intimacy that he wouldn't have shared with any other mech. Thundercracker cursed inwardly. At which point had he and Starscream become friends? It only had taken for them to nearly kill each other to realize how close they had always been. And yet, their allegiance was so fragile, destined to end with the destruction of one of them. In a way, it was almost sad.

"_You should be cautious as well, Starscream", _Thundercracker transmitted through the link_. "It would appear that you are worried about me."_

Starscream burst into laughter. "You still have a lot to learn about glory, you fool! Although I'd say you're an expert in ashes… _"Don't fool yourself, Thundercracker. You are of no use to me dead, not yet."_

Thundercracker smirked and stood up from the table. Starscream was the only friend he had left… The thought alone was pathetic. Still, he walked calmly toward the other side of the table and grabbed his ex trine leader by the arm.

"Since we were summoned to Iacon for the same reason, what do you say if we fly together? For old times sake?"

Starscream raised his head and glared at him, but didn't attempt to release his arm from Thundercracker's grip. _"I'm going to kill you one of these days, Thundercracker. You are aware of that, aren't you?"_

Thundercracker's smirk didn't decrease. _"You will _try_ to kill me, but you will fail."_

Starscream chortled and got up, putting one hand on the blue Seeker's shoulder. "Why not? I always loved how you used to eat the steam of my turbines."

They both laughed, and they continued to do so as they walked toward the exit. For a moment, the laughter was so genuine, so much that Thundercracker couldn't avoid turning over his shoulder and looking at the table one last time. At that moment, he would have given everything to return to the old times, in which the third chair had been occupied too.

But those times would never return. One of his trinemates hated him, and the other one was meant to be his killer or victim.

How ironic life could be.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>Until a couple of years ago, I didn't know that 'rolling stone' had another meaning besides the rock band and the magazine, but that's what generally happens when English is not your first language. Anyway, I loved the meaning, and I thought it would fit great for this chapter. Also, in order to keep playing with the words, I chose the song '100 years ago' from their majesties The Rolling Stones.<em>

_There was a small reference to 'Deviant' during the first scene of this chapter. You may remember it, but still I want to call your attention to some liberties I took with the Lambo twins, mentioning that they were triplets but their brother was killed by one Seeker from Starscream's trine. Now we know who did it._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know your opinions and allow me to apologize once again for my delay. _

_Don't forget that we have a date next December 23__rd__ for a 'Deviant' Christmas story. See you then :o)_


	3. Of clowns and facsimiles

_Hello. Em, does anybody remember this story?_

_By the Primary Programme, where to start?_

_Maybe by saying the obvious, that this story haven't been updated since – yeaaargh! – December of 2011._

_Such a long time… and I have no valid excuses. I mean, it's true that I've been insanely busy working in at least three personal projects at the same time, that I have been engaged in a time-consuming love relationship, that I started to write many fanfics at the same time… The list goes on, but still, there's no excuse to have left behind a story that I love so much about a character that I love even more._

_So I'm not going to apologize to you, dear readers, because no excuse would be enough to state how sorry and ashamed I am for having kept you waiting so much :o(_

_But I'll do my best to make it up for you. This, my return to this story, won't be an isolated event. I'll keep posting as often as I can and, no matter how chaotic my schedule gets, I will never, _ever_, leave this fic abandoned again! If I do, Unicron, pal, please make me burn._

_Okay, I'll stop talking nonsense. I only have a couple of things more to say before proceeding to the chapter._

_First, I want to thank my beta reader iratepirate for revising the grammar. Her schedule is chaotic as well, and yet she took the time to make it possible for me to post this today._

_Another big thank you is for my dear friend iennisita who made the amazing image that, starting today, is illustrating this story. _

_And last, but not least, I want to thank you all, dearest readers, for your infinite patience and support. They really mean a lot to me and I don't plan to disappoint you anymore._

_You are free to come to my house and throw some rotted eggs if you still feel like – just try not to hit my Decepticon logo, please! – but if you prefer to read the chapter instead, please be my guest._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Of clowns and facsimiles**

_Zraaak! Zraaak! Zraaak!_

One, two, three shots.

One, two, three facsimile Autobots.

All of them remained standing.

A frown, and a grimace.

Frustration.

* * *

><p>Thundercracker had never been amongst the Decepticons that wondered what happened behind closed doors – nor did he have any ambition to be there, for that matter. He had never actually been a typical Decepticon to begin with.<p>

Thus, being on the other side of the closed doors didn't mean a thing, neither did the polished table before him, or the other high ranked officers that were sitting in stiff poses.

He took a discreet glance around the table. Round… Thundercracker had read about a human ruler that once had had a round table as well, so his subordinates wouldn't feel him standing above them. He doubted such was Megatron's case, as much as he certainly had had something in mind when using a table of such shape. It was, as many things within the Decepticon hierarchy were, a mirage, an imitation of equality in a scenario that was obviously led by one single player.

And who happened to have his two pawns as well. Starscream at his right and Soundwave at his left… It was amazing how the primary concept of a rounded table could be broken so easily. To Thundercracker, the apparently perfect circle looked more like a square, or a podium with an omnipotent Megatron at the top. Thundercracker hadn't been in many Autobot meetings of that sort, but he had seen enough to understand that the Decepticons' sworn enemies didn't need to use empty shapes to fake equality. The Autobots just made it happen.

The meeting was boring, as boring as none of the mechs present would ever admit. It was easy for Thundercracker's processor to assimilate every strategy thanks to his military education, but his deviant processor, always thoughtful and politically incorrect, wasted no time in reminding him about the lack of ethics in most of those strategies. With the honor of the warrior lost long ago, the Decepticons seemed to rely every day more on terrorist actions. Disgusting, and yet Thundercracker was a willing pawn in that game.

He cast a discreet look over the rest of the mechs at the table. He had never seen most of them, but he knew how the gears of the Decepticon hierarchy worked. Aside from the really important figures, such as the Combiner Team leaders and Megatron's closest lieutenants, the rest were expendable, as expendable as Thundercracker himself was.

He didn't belong to that place, much less to that table. He was a soldier, an Elite warrior perhaps, but a soldier nevertheless. Betrayal and deception had taken him on an unwanted rise through the ranks, and now that he was sitting at that round, fake table, he found himself longing for the only place he had left, the one place he could still call his own.

But it seemed that the sky would have to wait.

* * *

><p><em>Zraaak! Zraaak! Zraaak!<em>

One, two, three more shots.

Only one of the tree facsimiles was hit, but it remained standing.

The lifeless, fraggin' thing remained standing.

Was that a roar coming out of his vocalizer?

Bet it was.

Or perhaps it was a cry.

Skywarp shook his head. It was difficult to tell at that point, when his fuel lines were so full of high grade that he felt they were about to explode and corrode his main core.

Now that would be some ending: over-energized to death. He had had dreams of a glorious deactivation in battle like most of his comrades, but the truth was that he had always fantasized about offlining in the arms of two, three or ten kinky females, each one of them having driven him to lethal ecstasy.

He tried to laugh – frag, once again, it sounded like a pathetic whimper.

He looked above.

_Above?_

Yes, above, because he was on his hands and knees, looking at the three facsimiles that returned his stare with optics that were empty, dead, just as whatever he had inside his spark chamber felt like. The one that had half of the helm missing, the one he had shot, gave him the most mocking look, the one that hurt the most.

Anger increased his grimace, momentarily deforming his attractive facial features, as Skywarp emptied his arm-mounted rifles on the figures.

He was also close to emptying his fuel tanks, his immense levels of high grade making his midsection churn.

He didn't do it, though. Maybe that's why laughter came, to give him some reprieve.

But it wasn't him the one who laughed. He knew for sure because, for starters, reprieve didn't come; only frustration, and the now familiar sentiment of humiliation.

Somebody was laughing.

_Somebody was laughing at him._

* * *

><p>"Thundercracker."<p>

He stopped, turning slowly to Megatron as the rest of the Decepticons left the war room.

Even Soundwave left, the always reliable – and always dangerous – shadow of Megatron. Whatever scheme the Decepticon leader was up to, it was only of Thundercracker's concern.

_Idiot Starscream, _he thought as the Air Commander gave him a sharp, not-so-discreet look on his way out. Thundercracker was aware that he was being paranoid, that most likely there were not a thousand cameras watching his every move, but that was part of the price he had to pay for his betrayal. Skywarp had been right; a cycle, one single cycle of peaceful recharge was denied to him.

He waited in silence until Megatron signaled to the chair next to him. He sat, despite the alerts his instinct was giving him. If Megatron decided to end his traitorous existence, he didn't stand a chance, not at that close distance.

Megatron clicked a button under the table, making Thundercracker almost cringe. It had been hard to admit it, but one of the reasons why he had remained with the Decepticons despite all his doubts about the cause was because he feared Megatron.

However, the only thing that happened was that two Energon cubes rose to the surface of the table. Megatron picked one up and Thundercracker did the same, although he hesitated when he recognized the coloration of the precious fuel.

"Still not keen on high grade, I see," Megatron said, raising his own cube to his face and moving it in a way that Thundercracker found disturbing.

"No, Sir," he replied, wondering how Megatron was aware of such an insignificant piece of information. It was no secret that Megatron had very little interest in his troops and valued them only for their combat skills.

Megatron fixed his deep stare on his cube. Thundercracker saw a gash on his cheek that hadn't been there two cycles before.

"Do you know what they say about mechs who don't fuel with high grade, Thundercracker?"

"No, Sir," he lied. Of course he knew of Decepticon folklore. For most of his comrades-in-arms, shooting big guns and drowning their circuits in high grade were the only ways to express their mech-hood. He had always felt above those moronic hard-heads.

But Megatron surprised him. "They. Win. Wars." The powerful black hand closed in a fist, shattering the Energon cube into so many pieces that for a moment it seemed that acid rain was coming from the Decepticon leader's servo.

Megatron turned his chair toward the window. Outside, the outskirts of Iacon looked as peaceful as it had been before the war. But then again, what could be more peaceful than a dead city?

"I'm aware of the rate of success of your little armada. Very impressive."

Thundercracker left his cube on the table and straightened his pose. He had never been comfortable with praise, especially when it came with such devious intentions.

"I'm only following your orders and acting according to your battle strategies, Lord Megatron."

Megatron made a disdainful gesture with his hand. "Nonsense, don't be so modest. I always knew you had the potential to be a brilliant strategist, and with your recent actions you are proving me right."

It was hard to see Megatron's optics. Not only were the lights were dimmed, but the shadows seemed to enjoy playing a macabre game on his face. Thundercracker remembered the gladiator he had admired and followed so many vorns ago. It was very hard, if not impossible, to recognize him in this tyrant.

_In this monster, _a hidden part of him thought. Still, it was just as impossible to deny the halo of power and greatness that the Decepticon leader possessed. Starscream was a fool; for all his ambitions and twisted schemes, he would never be able to emit such a halo.

Megatron pushed one of the buttons on the table console and a hologram was projected, displaying a series of numbers that Thundercracker knew well, not that they made him feel any pride at all, not even comfortable.

"Thirteen hostile engagements against the enemy, ninety-four percent efficiency, no casualties…" Megatron began to read. "Curious. Not even Starscream had this level of competence when he began as squad commander."

"I'm far from being a novice as Starscream was when you granted him command of the Decepticon aerial forces." Starscream had been his mentor. Far beyond the stiff instructors he had had at the Military Academy, it had been his infamous Air Commander who had taught him everything he knew about aerial combat. Another thing Thundercracker had the insufferable slagger to thank for.

"… and an undetermined number of enemies taken down…" Megatron continued reading, not having paid any attention to the Seeker's comment. "Now this also qualifies as curious data. Tell me, Thundercracker. Have you encountered any of the Autobots you had direct contact with during your infiltration mission?"

Megatron turned off the hologram projector and once again fixed his very deep stare on Thundercracker, an uncomfortable reminder of how scary – and deadly – the Decepticon Supreme Commander had always been.

Still, Thundercracker did his best to keep himself together. "No. I haven't." Fortunately, by all means, he didn't have to lie on that one.

There was a part of Thundercracker that had offlined the day he decided to betray his most sacred principles, but he was sure that his face plates were an open datapad concerning certain feelings. If Megatron continued his questioning about that particular, painful matter, what would his optics say? Would they be able to dim his guilt?

But Megatron had other things in mind than torturing his dysfunctional soldier. He got up, his stained hand still showing the signs of the Energon cube he had destroyed. It looked like it was stained in blood.

"Come with me."

Thundercracker got up too and followed Megatron to the back door, another place where Thundercracker wasn't looking forward to being. Maybe it was his paranoia acting up again, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that every new door he entered would be his last one.

"Where are we going, Sir?"

Megatron smirked, his red optics shining with malice.

"Consider yourself lucky, Thundercracker, as you are about to witness the future of the Decepticon army."

* * *

><p>"Real Autobots fight back, didn't ya know 'Con?"<p>

"Frag, who is this guy? He couldn't even manage to hit target-practice facsimiles! I blasted them all, what, like the first time I tried."

Skywarp looked over his shoulder, glad that he had been able to contain his need to empty his fuel tanks. That wouldn't have helped his already shattered pride, neither did the fact that, yeah, he was still on his hands and knees. At some point he had fallen to the ground, defeated by none other than himself.

There were three mechs at the entrance of the shooting field. Upstarts, just released from the assembly line, wearing proudly their recently painted Decepticon insignias.

"Hey, junk piece," one of them said, kicking him in the leg. "What are ya doing here so late?"

Skywarp growled and rolled to his side, totally failing when he attempted to get up.

It couldn't be. He was a Decepticon Seeker, a class-A warrior from Megatron's elite forces. How in the Inferno could some children mock him, humiliate him like that?

"Didn't you hear my friend, junker? Out of the field!"

_I'll show you out, I'll show you… _He lifted his arm only to have his incendiary gun crushed by a foot that also dislocated his elbow joint. Had that young soldier been so fast? Or had he become slow, besides pathetic?

"Attacking your superiors, slag piece? Not a wise choice, unless you wanna become our target, that is!"

"Hey, did you guys see the wings? Fragger's a Seeker!"

"Yeah? Well, _seek _this pretty boy!"

_ZRAAAK!_

More than the alarms lighting up in his HUD, incredibly intense pain announced that some serious damage had been inflicted.

The high grade fuel coming out of his mutilated arm showed him just how drunk he was.

But it wasn't a matter of high grade, or of the smell of the smoking cannon that had just taken his arm.

It was about colors.

Black, red, green… Not enough, not enough. He needed more. Blue, for example. White, gray, red… yeah, red strips on the wings.

_Purple light._

His favorite, his place. Teleportation was his thing. Maybe he was not very good at it, but it was his very own fraggin' home.

_Zraaak! Zraaak! Zraaak!_

One, two, three shots.

One, two, three facsimile Autobots falling to the ground.

The facsimiles cried. The facsimiles exploded in pieces.

They would laugh no more.

_Dismembered bodies._

Their dismembered bodies were the vivid –_ha!–_ image of perfection.

He slipped in the puddle of vital fluid coming from the numerous wounds.

Had he still had his right arm, maybe he would have avoided the fall.

Only that this time nobody laughed, nobody mocked him.

He made good use of his re-encounter with the ground to take a closer look at the three dismembered bodies.

One of them was – had been – a flier.

His paintjob was mostly black, but Skywarp imagined him blue. And white, yes, black and white with red strips on the wings.

And there, within the blood that was starting to crystalize, he found a reason to smile.

And not only that.

He laughed.

And laughed, and laughed. _Higher, higher_. He laughed so much that his mutilated arm started to short-circuit.

So he laughed again, the ultimate prankster back, the pain nothing but sweet.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p><em>You know, my 'Once a Decepticon' mojo is officially back :o) It feels SO good to return to this fic! <em>

_Please leave a review before you leave and tell me your thoughts._


	4. A tale of two traitors

_I can't believe that it took me less than fourteen months to update this story, lol._

_Sorry about that. I still feel remorse every time I recall that it took me that much – or more, I honestly don't remember – to update last time… I hope you guys can forgive me. I'll do my best to compensate you and will keep this story very active from now on. _

_There are some important author's notes at the end of this chapter. Please make sure you read them because I would like to know your opinion about something that's been circling my head._

_I want to give tons of thanks to my sista iratepirate for helping me with my grammar and for providing the fuel to keep my writing streak powered. _

_I also want to send a big hug to the Transformers Russian community, for the support and much needed kicks in the butt they give me every now and then._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**A tale of two traitors**

The two Decepticons let go of his arms. The ground was not very distant, but still the thud that signaled his landing could have been gentler.

He wasn't surprised to see blue and silver fuselage as soon as his optical sensors realigned. The hand extended toward him wasn't exactly a shocking sight either.

"Is this you Decepticreeps idea of first class travel? And you dare to call yourselves fliers…" Still, he took the hand and accepted the ride back to his feet.

"I apologize, Ratchet," Thundercracker told him. "I instructed my soldiers to avoid being rough, but they still have a lot to learn about subtlety."

"You call those chunks of scrap metal soldiers?" Ratchet spat, throwing a dirty look to the two tetra-jets that had kidnapped him. "You really have a lot of work ahead if you're seriously trying to turn those rust buckets into fuel-thirsty 'Cons like the rest of you lot." For a moment, he seriously considered punching Thundercracker in the face, but he ended up sighing instead. "How many of them this time?"

"Just one, but in critical condition," Thundercracker said, guiding Ratchet through the maze of corridors in the improvised base.

"Ah-ha, and couldn't you have _asked _me, like you did the last couple of times? Did you have to send your cronies to hunt me down like a turbofox?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't show up. After all, this is the third time I ask for your help…"

"Ask is a way of putting it. And you're right, I wouldn't have come! What? Do you think that repairing 'Cons is the kind of thing I crave to do in my spare time – not to mention that I don't have any spare time at all!"

Thundercracker smiled slightly. "You care about life."

"Oh, there you go again, resorting to the 'ole good-doctor argument… You're really one twisted Deceptiscum, Thundercracker, perhaps worse than all your comrades. Do you know what I was doing right before your gang of crooks abducted me?" Ratchet stood in front of Thundercracker and didn't move to make a point. "I was repairing an Autobot flier, and all records indicate that he was brought down by the same 'Con you're asking me to repair! Where does that leave me standing?"

Very often, Ratchet couldn't tell the difference between treachery and compassion. True, he had pronounced an oath when becoming a medic and to be honest he had saved Decepticons' skidplates a long, long time before Thundercracker had come to him for the first time, but indignation was his right. Patching up the enemy wasn't exactly the key that would lead the Autobots to victory.

"I have tried to avoid fatal casualties," Thundercracker said. At least he had the decency of looking somewhat ashamed.

"Really? On which side?" Ratchet spat a remnant of energon to the floor. "Well, you obviously haven't tried hard enough. Last time I checked our numbers continued depleting by the cycle." He looked around; every one of Thundercracker's soldiers seemed to be occupied with whatever duties they had been assigned with. "Which doesn't happen to your little armada, I see, as complete as the first day Megatron gave you your new toys to play with. I don't know if you're a slaggin' genius in aerial tactics or just one lucky fragger."

"I like to believe a little bit of both." Thundercracker walked on. Ratchet followed grudgingly. "I have indeed been able to keep my soldiers safe so far, but I can't put high bids on about how long they will remain that way."

_I could, if I stop helping you repair them… _But Ratchet disregarded the thought.

They arrived at a door at the end of a corridor.

"You have a lot of nerve," Ratchet said as Thundercracker typed a code in the pad outside. "I don't know who's the most foolish here. You, for bringing a sworn enemy into your base, or me for agreeing to repair 'Cons who'll slaughter more of my people as soon as they have the chance."

Thundercracker turned to look at him as the door hissed open. "You are not my enemy, Ratchet. You are my friend."

Now the blue Seeker had had the indecency of looking hurt. What was wrong with Decepticons-turning-Autobots-only-to-turn-Deceptic ons-again these days?

Ratchet frowned. "Yeah, we are friends when it suits your needs. I have to say it, Thundercracker, this has proven to be a very one-sided relationship. Care to guess who is on the losing end?"

Thundercracker walked to the only occupied berth, highlighted by one lamp barely illuminating the joke of a medical bay. The injured Decepticon was not a tetrajet, but an alternative model like others in Thundercracker's squad, and he was just as young. Ratchet couldn't help feeling pity for the poor slagger. Perhaps he hadn't been online for even one single meta-cycle and he was already being forced to fight.

Thundercracker gave his motionless soldier a serious look before activating a nearby panel, opening a hidden door in the wall. Ratchet's white face turned purple when bathed by the shimmer of the shining light.

"I don't plan to let you go empty handed this time, Ratchet."

The medic frowned. Indignation, more than ever, was his right. "What's this? My services are not for sale, much less my loyalties."

Thundercracker shook his head. "You said your outpost was short of Energon."

"Not of stolen, corrupted Energon... How many Autobots did you slaughter to get this?"

Thundercracker looked hurt. "I didn't slaughter anyone. This comes from our supplies in Darkmount."

"And that makes it clean, I take it?" Ratchet shook his head. "I know it's a nonexistent concept for you, but we Autobots have always worked for our fuel. We don't take it for granted… even less steal it."

Thundercracker approached the pile of glowing cubes. "There's no such thing as honest Energon in times of war. Stolen or not, it fuels a mech just the same. Take it. We are not exactly scarce of it these days. You, on the other hand…"

"And who's _we, _Thundercracker? You Decepticons or your squad here?"

When Thundercracker didn't reply, Ratchet shook his head and walked toward the repair berth. "See when I tell you that our _friendship _is very one-sided?" It took him only a fast glance at the burgundy colored Decepticon to know what was wrong; he had seen those exact injuries thousands of times, perhaps millions. "Okay, punctured fuel lines – I see you repaired those, good – massive structural damage, cooling system inoperative, partial mutilation of right upper servo, battle computer disabled, probable spark chamber corruption… I'd say we have a winner."

"Tell that to the Autobot who did this to him," he heard the rancorous voice behind him.

"I'll tell him, if he makes it through the night shift." Ratchet deployed his medical kit, thinking that war was the ultimate immorality. "Now, make sure the spark reader is on line and get your aft back here. We have work to do."

The small smile on the Decepticon's face didn't go unnoticed. As it happened every time he was in his presence, Ratchet felt conflicted feelings struggling through what he was sure was his treacherous spark. On one hand, he wanted to slag the abuse-confident Decepticon scum, but on the other, he truly appreciated him. Thundercracker was one troubled mech for sure, but his spark was in the right place. Ratchet only hoped that he would finish what he had started when he had dared to see beyond his optics during his undercover mission. Once touched by the Autobot code, no bot could ever be the same, especially if said code had been part of said bot's programming since being assembled. Thundercracker had chosen the wrong side, but he was an Autobot at spark, or at least that's what Ratchet still liked to believe.

They worked in silence for some breems, words being useless when a life was at stake. Thundercracker was as arrogant as all Seekers were, even snobbish to a point, but Ratchet was pleased to see that he had no problems in getting his hands dirty to save the life of one of his men. Maybe it was a matter of military protocol in Thundercracker's very peculiar honor code, but to see a 'Con taking care of one of his subordinates instead of abandoning him to shut down as the rest of his comrades would have done, was a welcome change. Unfortunately, Ratchet was sure that Thundercracker was the only one of his kind to think – and act – that way.

"You know, if you ever get tired of being an evil, megalomaniac Deceptiscum, you could be a decent medical assistant," Ratchet said when the spark reader started to display data that signaled that the offlined Decepticon was out of danger.

"From hated and mistrusted double-agent to nurse, you say? I'll think about it."

Ratchet could tell that Thundercracker had relaxed now that the survival of his soldier was a certainty. As he saw the blue Seeker walking toward a nearby cabinet, the medic frowned, realizing that it would be such a waste if this sui-generis 'Con ended up slagged.

"Joke all you want, but you should consider it, afthole!" he spat, displaying one of his famous mood changes. "I don't know what kind of double, triple or whatever-faced game you're playing here, but it will only take you to destruction. You know that, come on! You're an intelligent bot."

Thundercracker started to clean his hands thoroughly with a cloth soaked in solvent. "And why would you care, Ratchet, if I get destroyed? I'm just another evil Deceptiscum, remember?"

It wasn't the words, but the parsimony of the 'Con's attitude that unnerved Ratchet the most. Oh, how he wished to punch those smooth facial features this time… "Call me idiot if you want, but I still believe this universe would be a little bit worse without you in it."

Thundercracker grabbed another cleaning cloth and threw it to the medic. "I appreciate your words, but I have things to do."

"Or debts to pay, perhaps you wanted to say…" Ratchet said as he caught the cloth nonchalantly. "Look, the only thing I know about your guilt is that it is real, but I'm not sure if your actions are intended to heal it or to enhance it. All I know is that the Decepticons acquired a valuable weapon with your armada here. Your incursions in Kalis haven't exactly gone unnoticed."

Thundercracker narrowed his optics. "Believe it or not, killing Autobots is not amongst my priorities."

"And which priorities may those be? You're not being so communicative as to tell me what the slag are you up to."

"I have told you enough."

"You've told me nothing! As far as I know, I'm betraying my kind by coming here and patching up your boys. Last time I checked, an Autobot medic repairing Decepticons on a regular basis is considered high treason. Bah! I should defect and become the CMO of your little gang here!"

Thundercracker couldn't help but smile. "I would like that very much, but you could never defect, Ratchet. There's no Autobot who bears the red badge more proudly than you."

"Yeah? That won't help me to avoid court martial if I get caught helping you."

"You can always say that I abducted you."

This time he didn't think about it. He just punched the slagging Decepticon in the face.

"Is this a game to you, frag head? I don't remember you being such an ironic 'Con. Is that _also _a side of you that was hidden?"

Thundercracker stepped backwards, putting a hand on his cheek. He didn't retaliate, though. Ratchet hadn't expected him to.

Despite the fact that the hit had been quite hard, Thundercracker didn't seem mad. "If this is going to happen every time we meet, remind me to wear a face mask. You also punched me the first time I asked you to repair one of my men. The second time you threw a wrench at my head."

"If you don't like it, you can always punch me back!"

"I don't fight my friends."

That should have been enough to calm Ratchet down, but he was too angry to let things go this time. "I didn't see you having a problem with that when you fought Starscream. And you did a little more than just punching him."

Thundercracker's face darkened. "Starscream is not my friend."

Ratchet had his doubts about that. Autobot intel had reported that Thundercracker and Starscream were up to something. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good if the second worst Decepticon was involved. Ratchet felt a chill in the core when, for a moment, he wondered if said second worst Decepticon was the one standing in front of him.

"Look, just… " he finally said. "Just don't ask me to understand this. I don't get how you can deal with the guy you almost killed and almost got you killed. It doesn't fit in my programming."

"I don't see the problem. After all, I'm standing with the guy I betrayed and from whom I stole the classified intel that I used to doom Iacon."

"And what does that make you, Thundercracker?" Ratchet asked sourly.

The Seeker lowered his head. There was no doubt that he tortured himself much more often than when he engaged in verbal battles with the only friend he had left in the Universe. Despite his annoyance, Ratchet felt sorry for him.

When Thundercracker didn't answer, the medic relaxed his severe stance. "You're playing a dangerous game, Thundercracker. Whatever it is that you're doing, you can't trick everyone."

"Why not? It worked with you."

That 'you' reached many more than just Ratchet, the medic knew. "You're not exactly a trusted bot these days. I'm not going to waste words telling you how unpopular you are amongst my people. Let's just say that everything you do is corrupted by your own interests and those convenient lies you have become so attached to. You may be a hero amongst your kind, but as much as I don't dislike your company, I don't trust you."

"Hero?" Thundercracker twisted his mouth, as if finding the word disgusting. "I'm no hero, I can assure you that. As a matter of fact, my… _kind_ would like to see me dismembered as much as yours."

"It's hard to be a double-crosser these days, huh?"

"Tell me about it."

Thundercracker's face hardened. He always had a very serious countenance, but Ratchet knew him enough to realize when he was really troubled. He was risking too much indeed, involved in Primus knew how many variants of a bizarre plan only he knew about, but Ratchet could tell for sure that his Decepticon friend was not afraid to die. That was the worst part.

"Looking forward to being destroyed is not the best way to redeem yourself," Ratchet said, not daring to look at Thundercracker and focusing his attention on aligning one of the tubes feeding the offlined jet on the repair berth. "Assuming that redeeming yourself is what you want, of course."

"Trust me, if blowing my cranial unit to pieces would erase my mistakes, I would do it," he heard the Seeker saying. "But that's the way of a coward."

"And you are no coward, we both know that… What are you then?"

Thundercracker approached from the other side of the berth. "I used to be a warrior. Now I'm a traitor, you said it yourself."

"A Decepticon traitor is an Autobot's best friend, but an Autobot betrayer… You really break the mold in double-crossing your faction, whichever faction that may be."

Thundercracker frowned. "Why does everything have to be about factions? Since when did we stop being Cybertronians?"

"You tell me. It wasn't my kind who started the war."

"That's debatable."

Now it was Ratchet who frowned. "Aaand the Decepticon arises… I'm not going to engage in this never-ending conversation with you again, Thundercracker, especially when you love so much to walk on both sides of the line."

The Seeker didn't retort, as Ratchet had predicted. In the short time he had been treating him, the medic had learned to recognize his shame.

Ratchet sighed. "I heard that your trine was dissolved – believe it or not, my side is very grateful because of that. But you seem to cope pretty well with your new henchmen here. They don't exactly seem to hate you."

"They are youngsters, fresh steel out of the training fields, sometimes from the assembly lines themselves," Thundercracker said, looking at the offlined burgundy Decepticon. "Misfire failed every test in the fields, every single one of them… and with the worst scores. He was also expelled because of his insanity. If you think that being put in front of this unit was a reward for my _heroic _actions, you are very mistaken."

_And yet, you have managed to win every battle with this unit of beginners. _"Megatron is challenging you, or he has a sick sense of humor."

Thundercracker snorted. "He's watching me, almost as much as he's using me."

"As he did last time, you mean? And what would be the difference now?"

"That this time I plan to do something about it."

"Doing what? Getting killed? You were close last time."

Thundercracker smirked. "But I failed, and if not succeeding in getting destroyed is the thing I do the best, I intend to make good use of my ability."

"You said your soldier was insane, but I think you're the loony yourself." Ratchet shook his head and looked at the injured young Decepticon. "Take good care of these junk buckets 'cause I won't be available to put them back together for a while. I have been reassigned to Simfur."

"Simfur?" The sudden shine of Thundercracker's optics didn't go unnoticed. "What part of Simfur?"

Ratchet looked at him carefully. "Now that would be confidential information, don't you agree?" Ever since the beginning of their deal – or whatever it could be called – Ratchet and Thundercracker had tacitly agreed to keep their badges out of it, but it was hard, very hard, to leave the Autobot behind when standing before an infamously treacherous Decepticon.

Thundercracker frowned. "Is it that hard for you trust me, Ratchet? I'm not backstabbing you this time."

"I guess that's because you have plenty of backs left to stab. One more wouldn't make a difference."

"The things I'm not telling you are for your own protection."

"What a coincidence. Everything that I don't tell you is also for _my _own protection!" the medic spat, returning his attention to his most recent patient. "Your soldier here is out of danger. Now I would really appreciate it if you'd return me to my post. I have much more valuable lives to save."

"Ratchet…"

He turned towards the door. "I'm not as foolish as you believe, Thundercracker. I know perfectly well that you are one of the most dangerous Decepticons ever built. Don't ever think that I forget that, not for a single moment."

"And yet you help me. Why?"

Ratchet didn't reply. Thundercracker had said it before; there was no need to repeat it.

He heard the Decepticon moving behind him. "There is an abandoned industrial sector thirteen cyber-miles north of your outpost. I'll leave the Energon there, in a raw state. Nobody will be able to tell that it was planted there intentionally."

Ratchet didn't say anything, tacitly accepting the payment for his services. What could he say? Pride was not exactly an asset these days, especially after a Decepticon infiltrator had exposed the biggest weakness in the Autobot code of honor. The damage that Thundercracker had inflicted had been more serious than anybody wanted to admit.

He gave a furtive look to the fuel shining so beautifully. Did that mean that he had a price, after all? It went beyond the oath he had taken when becoming a doctor. He had made an oath to himself, a promise…

Now all his ethics had been compromised, and all because of his best intentions. The outcome, however, had very little to do with goodness, perhaps nothing at all.

Blind was the mech who still believed in black and white. How to name treason, when committed for the sake of something sacred, such as life?

Maybe he still had pride, but his patients needed fuel. As much as he felt like a traitor, his patients needed the fuel…

Sometimes he could understand Thundercracker, and that scared him.

It scared him very much.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p><em>I happen to like shades of gray, have you noticed?<em>

_And yeah, that was Misfire, as in Misfire the Scavenger. I love the guy so much that I borrowed him a bit. We'll be seeing more of him during this story._

_Okay, as for that thing I wanted to ask you, it goes like this:_

_It starts with a confession: I wrote 'Purple rain' in one day. _

_Yeah, one day. Most of it at least, whilst I was watching three NFL games in any given Sunday. Don't ask me which teams played, because once I started typing I couldn't stop. Really, I couldn't stop. I wrote page after page, and in ten hours most of the fic was done. But that is the same reason why I regret having rushed so much in a story and a character that I have turned to love so much. _

_Can you blame now for wanting to rewrite it? I feel like I have a debt with 'Purple rain', and the duty to make it better. Now, as I write this third and final part of the trilogy, I realize that I left so many scenes out of it, not to mention characterization issues that are killing me – the Stunticons, cough, cough… Frag, I should be arrested for having written them SO bad in there! _

_Anyway, I would really appreciate if you let me know your opinion about a new version of 'Purple rain'. I won't erase the old one whatsoever, but I'm sure that now, some years after writing it, I have improved my writing skills and I can do it better. It will fit perfectly fine with 'Deviant' – better, actually – and thus with 'Once a Decepticon', and I may still have some surprises up my sleeve to both new and old readers._

_Please send your feedback about that and also about this chapter. All your opinions matter and will be taken in consideration :o)_


	5. The little trinemate that couldn't

**Chapter 5**

**The little trinemate that couldn't**

The Pit couldn't be worse than this, he decided as he entered the dark alley and started to make his way through the debris and garbage. He couldn't remember the last time he had been surprised by the rust and decay that had become his home planet's only mantle. It had just happened; the bright memories of a happy, warless Cybertron were nothing but images recorded in video files. Not that he missed those times, though. War was much more fun… at least it used to be.

Every now and then he found fallen comrades in arms, taken down by high grade rather than enemy weapons, their processors so inebriated that it wouldn't be a surprise if their fuel lines suddenly clogged and ended their useless, anonymous lives. They had the same insignia that he wore on his wings, but lately he felt like he didn't have anything in common with those who were supposed to be his brethren.

Was that the taste of victory?

He shrugged his shoulders. The Decepticons were winning the war. Iacon had fallen and soon the rest of the city-states still under Autobot control would follow. Then glory would come; the Decepticons would rule the planet just as Megatron had promised. They would be titans. The Universe would be theirs to conquer.

Then why the slag did he feel so bad?

Victory sucked. That was an easy statement to make.

"What are you looking at?" he barked at one trooper that dared to stare at him. The staggering Decepticon hurried to lower his gaze, more intimidated by his tone of voice than by his appearance.

He was getting used to that scenario. _Slagging idiots, like they've never seen a cloak before… _Certainly his outfit was not one of a Senator, but slag, he _was_ cold, and one thing he had learned during his stay on Earth was that clothes actually helped to avoid freezing your circuits, especially when your inner thermostat decided to be a glitch. Of course, calling the dirty fabric that covered him from helmet to knees a cloak was far too pretentious, but he didn't care. Something serious had to be happening if he had come to the point at which he cared so little about his personal grooming.

He kicked what he thought was a bucket when he reached the end of the alley. By the time he realized that it was actually a head, he didn't even flinch. Dismembered bodies were just one of the many things he didn't give a slag about…. and coincidentally, they were one of his many current problems.

* * *

><p><em>Two solar-cycles before.<em>

Starscream sliced the air at supersonic speed. Unlike other Decepticons, he had rejected change and had decided to keep his terrestrial alt mode when returning to Cybertron. Perhaps it was a little heavier than his original tetrajet form, but its maneuverability was perfect and Starscream had done an excellent job turning it into a deadly weapon.

The energy signatures on his tail were one change he welcomed, though. It felt good to have an entire squadron at his command again instead of only his and the Coneheads' trine as he had had on Earth. Most of his new soldiers were inexperienced, but he would turn them into decent fliers, just as he had done with his former trinemates.

A tingle of envy hit his processor like his entire load of cluster bombs on the Autobot ship's underbelly. He wouldn't go so far as to call himself jealous, but the victories of Thundercracker's squad hadn't gone unnoticed. Starscream had personally assigned the worst fliers he could find to his former wingmate, and yet the slagging, righteous fool had managed to turn them into one of the most effective units of the renewed Decepticon armada. That wasn't exactly going according to the plan.

Starscream tried to get rid of the negative feeling as he destroyed two mortar cannons that the gigantic Autobot ship deployed to greet him.

"_Focus your fire on the underbelly. I already weakened it,"_ he said through his comm-link to one of his units, also transmitting a formation he had triangulated specifically for that moment of the battle.

He repeated to himself that he had no reason to worry. Thundercracker may have no sympathy for him, but he didn't have betrayal either. They had both placed their cards on the table, and even though Starscream was very aware that, like himself, Thundercracker had some hidden aces of his own, their alliance had to work simply because they both wanted the same thing. Who cared about the means if the end was to be achieved? Besides, it was about time for Starscream to take advantage of Thundercracker's pathetic honorability.

He saw one of his Seekers going down, his structure severely damaged thanks to the accuracy of the massive canon protruding from the ship's nose cone. If the shot hadn't killed him, the fall would. Starscream didn't care; he didn't even give orders to recover the remains. One soldier down meant nothing; Megatron and logics had taught him that. He had a mission to complete and it was very important that he returned victorious. He couldn't allow Thundercracker and his unit of glitches to outshine him anymore. Rumors had started to spread, followed by the appearance of surreptitious graffiti stating that Thundercracker should be Decepticon Air Commander instead of Starscream. He needed to take care of that.

He went straight to the hidden zone at the right side of the enormous ship's plating. He knew he would find the energy core there, protected by thick metal plates, but still in the reach of the hydra bomb he was carrying. Stupid Autobots… didn't they know they were attacking him using precisely one battleship he had helped to design? Ah, good ole times at the Science Ministry… it was about time they paid off.

All he had to do was destroy the energy core and the entire ship would go down. That would put Kalis practically at the Decepticon's feet, showing the Autobots that sending their heavy machinery wouldn't save them. Megatron would be pleased.

Two fast presences did what they could to stay close to his sides. He had always hated it, but he had learned to entrust his safety to his two trinemates. Hateful as they were, both Thundercracker and Skywarp had fulfilled their duty of keeping their commander alive for almost fifty thousand vorns of war. In return, he had paid them with the same coin, in and outside the sky. But now that Thundercracker was gone, Starscream could only hope that his replacement would do a decent job. At least Skywarp was there, covering his left side as always… although considering how distracted and erratic his wingmate had been acting lately, keeping him in his position was as risky as entering the core of the laser fire alone.

Starscream tried to disregard the thought; pessimism was the last thing he needed right now, when a big victory as the one that was at hand was the only thing that mattered. His status, his honor and his immediate future depended on that. If he failed, Megatron would send Thundercracker to destroy the next Autobot battleship, sending a tacit, but important message about the rotations happening in the gears of the Decepticon hierarchy. Starscream couldn't allow that to happen.

He sent Skywarp his instructions through their private trine-link, still active. Then he flew straight to victory.

* * *

><p><em>27% structural damage. Energy levels depleting.<em>

Stubborn to die, stubborn to die, stubborn to die, stubborn to die, stubborn to die, stubborn to die, stubborn—

_Engines disabled. Left thruster destroyed._

The fog ahead dissipated and he had a visual of his blue, blurry hand.

"I…"

_Left wing 35.7% damaged. Energy levels critical. Induce stasis lock?_

Starscream growled a mental denial and interrupted the flow of his two damaged fuel lines. That numbed the left side of his body, but he could still feel the knives of pain travelling through his fuselage. He got to one knee and pointed his arm-mounted rifle at the open gash where burnt circuits were sparkling.

"I'm slagging stubborn to die!" He yelled as he fired, his null-ray ending both the pain and any physical sensation he had on the left side of his body. It wasn't common to use his null-ray for medical reasons, even less on himself. He didn't even remember the day he had created it for the purpose of saving lives. Those times were bad comedy.

He managed to get up. He had more dust on his frame than energy left, but he got to his feet. He couldn't allow his men to see him fallen. He was their Air Commander, second only to Megatron, second…

His optics were ablaze when they focused on the one his finger was pointing at.

"YOU!"

He ignored the hands extended towards him, naïve aft-kissers that pretended to gain him through their hypocritical loyalty. He pushed them roughly away before reaching Skywarp.

"You're out of my unit!"

The imbecile gaped and looked all around, apparently looking for a place to escape. When he finally spoke, Starscream found it very hard not to empty his weapons on him. "M… me? But Screamer…"

Who needed energon, when fury was even better at filling his depleted energy tanks? When he punched the slagging fool in the face, he sent him easily to the ground. "Out! You're out! How dare you enter into battle like this… andas my left side! Get the slag out of my sight, you stupid, useless drunk! You're a disgrace to the Decepticon army!"

Skywarp seemed to decrease his size, but it was the pathetic expression on his face that showed just how lost he was. Starscream twisted his mouth in disgust. Had it not been for his teleportation skills, Skywarp would never have had the honor to call himself Starscream's wingmate.

"I… I'm sorry, Screamer. I didn't see that cannon aiming at you… but it was these fools who—"

"Shut up! I mean it this time, Skywarp! You are out of my unit! For good!" He ignored Skywarp's mumbling and turned to the Seeker he had commissioned to watch his right plating. He didn't even remember his name, but at least Starscream hadn't been brought down because of him. "Send squads C and F after the Autobot ship. And get me a medical unit right now!"

* * *

><p>It wasn't difficult to track Starscream. He hadn't thought it at the beginning, but later Skywarp had heard that his Air Commander had been close to termination. And, as every time he waltzed with death, he had his ritual to follow, if only to yell at himself and at the slagging universe that he remained functional.<p>

Megatron's whereabouts had been furtive for the past few weeks, so Starscream had been forced to look for his overloads somewhere else, namely the pit hole in which he used to spend a lot of time lately. Had death been circling him so often, then? Or was he simply filling the blanks of his lover's absence? Whatever big scheme Megatron had in mind, it seemed that Starscream was not included.

When Skywarp finally found his Air Commander behind the rusty door, Starscream was alone, as lonely as he had been all his life. It didn't matter that a pretty female was sitting on his legs, loneliness seemed like a permanent aura above his head. It just suited him.

Vital circuits trembled inside the soiled cloak as Skywarp made his entrance. So that was loneliness… he wasn't enjoying to meet it. He wondered if he would become acquainted with it as familiarly as Starscream had.

At least the slagger seemed to be in a better mood. His injuries had been repaired and the squads he had sent after the Autobot ship had brought it down. He had kept the credit and his status intact… sort of.

"So Megatron isn't giving you much attention lately, huh?" Skywarp tried to break the ice, sitting across from Starscream and finding the rusty, black table similar to his own neglected paintjob. "But I see that you've found a replacement."

Before, he would have noticed the beauty of the female, her polished frame, her well-shaped servos, the delicate enginery that revealed that she hadn't always been a pleasure bot. War had become the ultimate specialist in that kind of twists of fate. Before, Skywarp had been a Nobody that had turned into a Somebody. Now it seemed that the cycle was rotating back only for him.

Starscream shot him an unfriendly look, detaching his mouth from the energon cube the female was holding for him.

"What the slag is that you're wearing? It stinks."

Skywarp smiled weakly; he hadn't expected any other kind of welcome. "If you wanted privacy, you should consider being discreet, Screamer. You're not exactly difficult to track these days."

Starscream took the energon from the female's hands and placed it on the table. "It should occur to you that if someone with your amazing tracking skills – not to mention bright intelligence – was able to find me, it may be because I'm not exactly hiding. On the contrary, I'm very interested in remaining in the spotlight."

"I can tell." Skywarp gave a disdainful look at the place, one of the many improvised pleasure houses that had become popular since the Decepticons had taken Iacon. Perhaps the city was dead in the core, but vice and secrecy had taken shelter inside, feeding from its decline. "I wonder where you are the _other _days, though, when you don't exactly give a slag about that same spotlight."

Starscream's narrowed optics shone briefly before he made the female stand from his lap. "Go to the back room and wait for me there."

Skywarp watched her leave and whistled. "Nice piece of aft… Where did you find it? She doesn't look low caste at all."

"That may be because she's not." Starscream took a sip of his energon cube.

A memory flashed in Skywarp's processor, as well as envy. "Wait… wasn't that Senator Minius, one of the top advisers to Zeta Prime? You fragger!" Now Skywarp was really envious; Astrotrain had been his only interface partner since returning to Cybertron, and generally those sessions were far more violent than pleasant.

Starscream shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "Never underestimate the power of hunger. As many of the survivors of our past, _honorable_ autocracy, this one knows about the Autobots' mercy to everyone that didn't take up arms against us. Fortunately, generous souls like me provided those outcasts with equally honorable ways of living."

Skywarp couldn't help smirking. For a moment he was back in the past, in the familiar security he used to feel just by knowing he was part of the Elite Trine of the Decepticon Armada, superior to all and able to get away with whatever the slag he wanted. Certainly locking interface ports with a former Senator would be only one of the privileges; he cursed himself for not having done it when he had the chance. Now he was rankless, alone, wearing a dirty cloak and fragging Astrotrain instead of a glamorous female. Yeah, he was prime material, really…

Starscream's vocalizer made the noise that indicated that he had ran out of patience, a sound Skywarp was very used to hear. When their optics met again, Skywarp could tell just how disgusted his Air Commander was of him.

"Do I really have to ask, Skywarp? Or, for once, can you skip your pathetic rambling and proceed to the point? As you could see, I'm busy."

"Screamer, come on…" Skywarp tried to reach Starscream's drink. "After what happened the other day, I thought—"

Starscream didn't allow him to take the cube. "Point number one: I'm surprised that you can think. Point number two: you don't need any more high grade than the one your fuel tanks are obviously carrying. And point number three: what is it about what happened that you didn't understand? I was very clear when I expelled you from my squad. Now frag off. You already took a lot of my time."

There was one thing that both Seekers shared: their remarkable lack of patience. "But you weren't serious! Come on, you couldn't be serious!" Skywarp placed his hands heavily on the table. "Okay, I didn't protect you when you were vulnerable, but it was a one-time mistake. It won't happen again, alright? Slag, I've been your wingmate like forever! You know better than anybody that I won't let it happen again!"

Starscream lifted his left arm tranquilly and showed the weld seam that travelled through his side, from armpit to waist.

"Uh… that can be polished—"

"I could have died, Skywarp. Because of you."

"But you didn't… And you won't do it, not if I'm still part of your trine."

The mocking laughter that followed was the one thing that Skywarp hated the most about the one that had been his Air Commander and brother for most of his life. "_Trine?_ What trine, you dolt? I'm done with trines, and so are you! War has taken another turn, haven't you noticed? Now we are the massive force, and the Autobots the outcasts who run away whilst they do their last stance through pitiful guerilla tactics."

Skywarp shook his head. "We are Seekers… We function in trines; that can't change. We—"

"We are the embodiment of Megatron's new vision, and trines are not part of that vision. What part of such a simple scheme you haven't been able to understand?"

Entire solar-cycles had gone by since Skywarp had felt what it was to be sober, but when he looked straight at Starscream he felt his fuel lines and his mind clear of inebriation. "The part in which you are so relaxed about it."

Starscream narrowed his optics. Skywarp felt so suspicious that he even forgot about the small satisfaction he used to feel every time he showed his Air Commander that he was not a complete idiot.

"What's in it for you, Screamer? For thousands of vorns you kept yourself alone under Megatron thanks to the sub-groups hierarchy, particularly trines. And this new… scheme, as you call it, also means that power won't be only your glitch to frag. You'll have to share it. I mean, it's not like Megatron ever named you his second officially."

Starscream's face was so serious that for a moment Skywarp felt the kiss of victory, _real _victory.

"My, my… so you did have a functional processor after all, Skywarp, what a surprise. Congratulations, you just have earned ten astro-kliks more of my valuable time… _and_ an advice, so listen carefully." Starscream placed his arm on the table and leaned toward Skywarp. "Stay away and keep a low profile. Sticking your nose plates in businesses you are far from understanding won't be good for your life expectations."

Any trace of satisfaction vanished from Skywarp's spark as fast as it had arrived. Starscream had always had his own agenda, but Skywarp had never felt as excluded as in that moment.

"Was that a threat?" It was fortunate that the dirty cloak wrapped around his body also managed to hide his face. He wasn't sure how the painful knob he felt within his spark reflected on his facial features.

"It was an advice," Starscream said casually, emptying his energon cube and starting the movement to get up. "And if you have the two petra-cycles of processor activity I like to believe you have, you'll take it."

Skywarp grabbed Starscream's wrist so fast that even he was surprised about his speed. Starscream seemed surprised too.

"This is all about TC, right? Are you and he fragging?" Skywarp asked bluntly.

Starscream's face went blank for a moment. Then he smirked. "You would like that, wouldn't you? I'm sorry if I disappointed your stupid need for jealousy, but no, we're not."

Skywarp lowered his gaze, but he didn't let go Starscream's wrist. "But you two are up to something…"

"Was that supposed to be a question?"

"Slag it, Screamer!" Skywarp punched the table with his free hand. "We were a trine for thousands of slagging vorns! _Vorns_, you fragger! I know you and Thundercracker better than I know my rear plates!"

"Then you should know that you are one astro-second away from losing your hand."

Skywarp released Starscream immediately. He knew, indeed, when his Air Commander was being serious.

"I gave you a valuable advice, so take it and stop asking stupid questions or reminding me about a trine that is no more." Starscream rubbed his sore wrist. "The fact that I lowered myself to talk to you right now is the only privilege you will obtain from our former bond. Also, get rid of that filthy cape and have an oil bath and a polish job. I could smell you even before you landed."

"Uh… there's something else…"

Starscream sighed heavily, but he didn't leave as Skywarp was sure he would do. Perhaps he did care a little about his ex-trinemate in disgrace, after all. Skywarp had always liked to believe that he did.

"_What?_ What now, idiot? I'm sick and tired of you! How do you want me to spell it?"

Rejection hurt, but Skywarp had other priorities. "I… sort of killed some cadets in a training field," Skywarp said as he grabbed the empty energon cube and started to play with it nervously.

"And that matters to me because…?"

"One of them wasn't a cadet, actually, but a component of a new gestalt team. The left leg or something."

"I repeat, Skywarp. Why would that be of my concern?"

"I'm, uh… under investigation. I need you to bail me out."

"Why, but that would be a high act of corruption on my account, wouldn't you agree?" Starscream's voice was as soft as it was malicious.

"Slag it, Screamer! I'm facing prison time, perhaps worse! I fragged up an entire gestalt team when I blew that guy to pieces, can't you see? That's big trouble!"

"Now that you mention it, a long stay in a penal facility could be the best thing that could happen to you. _Or _execution… You have been nothing but a useless nuisance lately."

"You slag!" Skywarp got up so quickly that he kicked both chair and table away, but he wasn't fast enough.

His fist was blocked before he could reach Starscream's face, and next thing he knew he had been propelled back by a swift kick to his midsection. He saw his cloak flying away and for a moment he was jealous of its freedom. When he finished crashing against a near table and the energon cubes on its surface, Skywarp could see the polished legs of his Air Commander towering him.

"Did you finish putting yourself in ridicule, you fool? Or do you want to add attacking a high ranked officer to your glamorous record?"

His fingers trembled on the soiled floor. "I… I need help, Screamer."

"Well, you won't get it from me, and neither will you get my pity. You are pathetic."

As always, Starscream was being a sparkless spawn of a glitch, but it wasn't him the one Skywarp hated.

"TC… he… he did this to me."

He heard Starscream snorting above him. "Yes, Skywarp, blame Thundercracker, as you have done since you knew about his stupid charade. It seems that you have found yourself a new hobby."

Starscream and Thundercracker had never gotten along. The trine had made them brothers, but their opposite convictions had turned them into rivals very quickly. Sometimes their moral battles inside the trine had been as raw as the Great War itself. So how in the inferno were they managing to work together now? Interfacing could be a reasonable explanation, but everybody knew about Starscream's loyalty to Megatron's berth, the only exceptions being anonymous pleasure bots such as Screamer's new Senator-toy. There had to be something deadly serious going on to keep Starscream and Thundercracker in the same team, especially after the drastic turns the war have taken after TC's undercover mission.

"Don't bother me again, Skywarp. Thundercracker may be a double-faced traitor, but at least he's not a weak clown like you. And if there's something I despise more than an Autobot, is weakness."

That's all Starscream said before turning around and proceeding to the back room.

Skywarp sat on the floor, surrounded by broken cubes and defeat. He wished he had the energy to go after Starscream and at least empty his weapons on the slagger's aft, but he was depleted. Strength had abandoned him, following the path his rank and his pride had taken. And it all had happened so fast; he hadn't even had the time to watch them sneak through his fingers.

He lifted his arms and watched his shoulder-mounted cannons. They had slaughtered so smoothly those cadets that had mocked him… Where was that strength, that ire? He needed them more than ever. They were to be his new trinemates.

Starscream was right about thing, though. Skywarp was a clown, because only clowns were laughed at. Had there ever been a difference between being the ultimate prankster he always thought he was, to the clown he had become?

He got to one knee and grabbed the edge of the fallen table.

Prankster or clown… who cared? Perhaps he had lost his honor, but if he was going to be a clown, he still had one joke left to tell, a joke about an Autobot who flew freely amongst Decepticons claiming to be one them, a traitor with multiple faces who secretly wanted to return to his origins. Skywarp was sure that many Decepticons would love to hear that story.

He smirked as he got to his feet. Time had come to pay a visit to his once brother.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p><em>Sorry that I took some time to update this, but my extremely busy routine has continued. I'm about a month from releasing my first movie to the film festival circuit and you can imagine the amount of insane work I'm going through during the final cut, not to mention the high doses of excitement and nervousness.<em>

_But I refuse to give up on my favorite vice, so I'll keep writing these stories no matter how busy I get. Just please bear with me. There will be times with fast updates, but also times in which I'm afraid I'll have to keep you waiting. All I can promise is that I'll keep writing Transformers fanfiction. I confess that I sincerely thought about quitting, at least for a while, but I definitely won't do it. I love these damn robots too much._

_I want to give a very special thanks to iratepirate for helping me in the grammar department. She didn't have time to revise the entire chapter because I had the little tact of sending this to her when her schedule was an insane bitch as well, but I think she did a great job. So hugs to you, hun!_

_I would continue rambling but I'm getting really sleepy here. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please keep letting me know you opinions. Your feedback is always the best incentive to keep writing._


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